


again

by an-assbutt-deduction (less_than_improbable)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Empty Boy AU, Falling In Love, Hurt, Impossible love story, John and Sherlock can make it happen, John is bisexual and he knows it, M/M, Manga Inspiration, Mycroft is an awkward brother, Romance, Season 1 Sherlock (TV), Sherlock AU, Sherlock can flirt, Sherlock expresses interest in John, Some BAMF!John, Supernatural Abilities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 12:20:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1778932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/less_than_improbable/pseuds/an-assbutt-deduction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson was just a boring ex-army doctor. He didn't expect to be the exception to Sherlock Holmes, a consulting detective and cursed man wielding the ability to force someone to forget him through direct physical contact. He also didn't expect to fall in love and be caught in such an impossible love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Empty Boy is a manga by Fujitsuka Yuki. It's about a girl witnessing a boy escaping a fight by touching him. She asks him a question when he finally notices her that makes him make her the exception. They fall onto the path of love, but due to an accident, he had to touch her to save her. She forgets him. The boy finds out about the tiny notebook the girl kept whilst they were together and read that she was recording their moments together in case she ever forgot. Well, after reading it, I immediately thought about Sherlock being the boy because the ability would have benefited him perfectly until John happened. This was supposed to be a oneshot, but I have split it into tiny chapters because I find I cannot write the other parts in full and I am too enthusiastic about posting it. So, please, enjoy the story, comment and give kudos as you'd like, and give constructive criticism.
> 
> Kudos to ACD for creating Sherlock, and to Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat for making him alive once again through your creativity. Kudos also to Fujitsuka Yuki for creating the Empty Boy manga.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tonight was just a typical night for old John Watson, until Sherlock Holmes happened.

John Watson, 34, walked along the familiar path leading to his flat. It was another unproductive day in the surgery, accompanied by paranoid women and ignorant teenagers. It was an awful day for John. Well, most days were awful for John. Today was just a bit worse.

 

He was walking on a small, dark street. Strange thing about walking in this dark part of London was that John never felt nervous or paranoid here. He believed he had nothing to lose, and he always had his Sig in his pocket. He had less than enough money in his wallet, and he always dressed horribly to blend in with the crowd (well, he also had a hidden adoration for his jumpers). There was a well-lit path in another street, but John had always preferred this. It, at least, made up for the boring part of his day. He didn’t know if he would be in danger today or not, and that gave him a thrill.

 

God, he felt so pathetic. He always believed he was better off in Afghanistan.

 

So, it was a big surprise to John when he heard punches landing on someone’s body and the clanging of metal on the ground. There was swearing, a groan, and a threat heard from that darker alleyway. Giving in to his curiosity, John hid himself against the wall just before it turned to the alleyway and peered into it. He could make out a two figures. One was smothered in muscles, although his legs were a bit disproportioned to his whole body. The other was lanky and slender. The lanky man picked up the metal pole from the ground, and hit the bulky man with it. He, in turn, groaned in pain and fell to the ground. The other kneeled down, pulled his glove away from his left hand, and cradled the man’s face. ‘Forget’ was what he heard from the slender man. The bulky man didn’t move for a few seconds. The lanky man grabbed the opportunity to hide his metal pole on the other side of the dark alleyway. He also put the glove back on his hand. When the bulky man showed signs of consciousness, the tall man went to him and ushered him up.

 

“Hey,” the bulky man said. His voice was rather hoarse. “Who are you? Why am I here?” John was a bit shocked. Wasn’t the man supposed to know him because they were just beating each other up earlier? It seemed like he forgot him completely, judging by the puzzled expression the bulky man’s face.

 

“Oh, I was just walking home.” The lanky man managed with a rich, velvety voice. “I saw you huddled over here. I thought you were dead.” Lies. He hit him with a metal pole and took his face in his hands for god knows what reason! “I just went over to make sure you still had the chance of being alive.”

 

“Oh,” this confused the other man even more. “Thank you, then. I’ll best be going.” He shrugged off the lanky man’s hands, and stepped outside the darker alleyway. John panicked because he was to be exposed, so he went behind the trash bin that was just behind him earlier. The bulky man walked to the other direction, rubbing his head and still clearly confused about what happened. When the man was gone, John stood up from his position and sighed.

 

“Who are you?” He heard a voice in front of him. John looked, and saw the lanky man from before. His piercing gaze was cold and calculating.

 

“I could say the same t-“He wasn’t able to finish his retort because the next thing he knew, a fist was trying come in contact with his boring old face. He dodged it, and quickly ran to the other side, where the thin man had hid his metal pole before. He could see the tall man coming quickly to him with his left hand ungloved. He grabbed the metal pole and barred it in front of him so that the thin man’s hand was blocked by the pole.

 

“Woah, woah, woah! Stop!” He yelled. “None of that!”

 

The thin man winced at the contact of the metal pole to his hand. He moved away, and hissed at John. “What the fuck do you want, army doctor?”

 

This surprised John. He could not remember any circumstance in which he met the other man. “How…? “

 

“Stance, haircut, says military. There’s a tan on your wrists, but from your face, you weren’t just sunbathing. And, yes, I could see your tan even with this dim lighting.” He grimaced and looked at the dim lamp post. “Your hands were careful, precise when you took that pole, and had much discipline. Who else, but a doctor, has those trained hands? You have a slight limp, it has gotten better before, but now it’s worse. Although, when you ran from me, you were running perfectly, like you’ve forgotten it. Psychosomatic limp. To get a psychosomatic limp, your original circumstances must be traumatic. Not much action in London to cause much trauma to someone like you. You are not a foreigner. So, someone sent out. Not young enough to be a student.  A soldier. You were wounded in action.”

 

John’s jaw dropped. “Brilliant.” He muttered unconsciously.

 

It was now the man’s turn to be puzzled. “I.. Really?”

 

“Yes!” Getting back to his senses, John exclaimed. “You knew that from just observing me?”

 

The other man nodded rigidly, with a proud grin on his face. However, after a mere second, it fell. “Well, none of your fawning over me is important now. You have to forget.” He attacked John once again with his bare hands. Finally, it all came to John. When the lanky man touched the bulky man, he became unconscious and forgot the whole fighting agenda. He had no time to ponder on it more because he had to bar him once again with the pole.

 

“Does everyone you touch forget you?”

 

The man didn’t answer him. He just continued pushing the pole away. John resisted firmly.

 

“Stop it.” He commanded angrily. “I don’t want to forget you. There has to be at least one man who can attest that you are brilliant.” It was true. How could anyone who has such a terrific brain and observation skills not have anyone to appreciate it? That was rather sad. And lonely.

 

The other finally stopped pushing and stared at John blankly. John, puzzled, still held the pole in his hands and was in his defense position. Quietly, the man picked up his discarded gloves from the alleyway and put it on. He held out his hand to John.

 

“Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective.” He said, displaying the faintest of a genuine smile.

 

John, still confused and a bit wary, decided to shake the other’s hand anyway. “John Watson. You know everything else.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The peculiar man insisted upon walking John home. Not that he had any objections to that.

He couldn’t believe the same man who tried to attack him earlier was walking him home now. He had insisted upon accompanying him without giving any reason. John saw no harm in doing so, since he had his Sig in his jumper (he had stitched on pockets in all of his jumpers where his Sig could fit snuggly) and he had a feeling this man wasn’t going to attack him again. Well, that might be some wishful thinking. But, John didn’t feel like turning down interesting company. Not after spending half a year without anyone.

 

They were walking at a peaceful pace, not too slow to be tedious and not too fast to be a jog. After a couple of minutes in silence, Sherlock spoke. “Okay, Doctor Watson.” He started. “You’ve got questions.”

 

John felt like a broken barrel. “Does everyone you touch forget you? How do you do that? Is that some sort of psychic power which everyone thinks true nowadays? What is a consulting detective? Are you for real?”

 

Without missing a beat, Sherlock answered. “Yes, everyone I touch forgets me. It is either I touch them with my bare skin or they accidentally touch my bare skin. It isn’t a psychic power, that’s rubbish. The police consult me when they are out of their depth, which is always.” He glances at John this time. “And, yes, Doctor Watson, I am real. I could tell you to touch me, but I doubt you can attest to my.. ‘brilliance’ if you forget me.” He snickered, clearly amused.

 

John turned red. “That was.. That’s-“

 

“You don’t have to explain, John. I get it. That’s why I’m sparing you.”

 

“I don’t get what you mean this time.” He answered, puzzled.

 

Sherlock stopped and turned to him. “I’m choosing to spare you because you’re interesting.”

 

“I.. thank you.” If John had long hair, he would have hid his face with it in embarrassment. “You’re clearly much more interesting than I am.”

 

“I am.” Oh, the proud bastard. But, John couldn’t argue with the truth. They resumed walking.

 

“Since when did you get this.. forgetting ability? I still can’t believe you can do it, though.” John asked carefully. He didn’t know what to call it.

 

There was a tight scowl on Sherlock’s face before he talked. “I’ve had it since birth. It is sort of.. a curse in the family. The youngest son of every family in the Holmes clan is gifted of the ability. It’s rather handy for my career. I can disguise myself, find out information, and if they find out about my undercover, I can use my ability for them to forget me. All that matters is the Work.”

 

John was contemplative. “But, isn’t it a bit sad for anyone you touch to forget you? It’s.. Touching is affection and intimacy. You can’t get close to anyone you hold dear. What about your mother? How did she hold you when you were a baby?”

 

“Fortunately, all family members are unaffected by my ability. So, yes, I didn’t have to deal with a childhood where Mummy keeps on forgetting me. I have no need for affection and intimacy for it is only a nuisance to my Work. Detachment is very much required in my field, and I dare say I am a veteran at it. Caring is never an advantage.”

 

Wow. That was rather harsh. Not for John, but for the man himself. However, John decided not to let the other deter in his pity. He didn’t seem like the type to bask in pity. He just kept quiet, and looked at where they were going. John saw he was only a two blocks away, so he stopped.

 

“Thank you for accompanying me home, for whatever reason you have.” God, he felt like a girl after a date. “This far’s enough. My flat’s just..” He pointed over to his flat.

 

“Oh.” Sherlock looked as taken aback as John. “Alright. Good evening, Doctor Watson.”

 

Before he could run away, John talked. “Call me John.”

 

“Yes. John.” He said, testing out the name on his tongue. They were both filled with silence, neither moving to part ways. John let his gaze run over Sherlock. He was slender, but there was grace in his stance. It wasn’t just grace, but also overblown pride. His angular features made him look edgy and cold, but the color of his eyes spoke of another thing entirely. It was a soft, peaceful shade of bluish green, just like the sea when it isn’t very deep. He also had unruly curly hair. They looked soft, though.

 

He was disturbed from his musings of the other man when the other spoke.

 

“Angelo’s. 8pm.” Sherlock squirmed under John’s questioning gaze. “I need you.”

 

“Yes?” John wasn’t quite sure what he was agreeing to. ‘I need you’ was quite the vague statement. Was he being asked for a date, or was it something else? Not that John had any issue with being on a date with a man. He identified himself as bisexual, but more on the woman side. But, he wasn’t opposed to dating men.

 

“Bring your gun.” Sherlock just gave him one of his smug grins, and walked back to the direction they came from, his collar turned up. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date.

The following night, John found himself sitting awkwardly by the window with his favorite black striped jumper in Angelo’s by ten to eight. It might be because his life was an entire bore, and Sherlock was the only thing making it interesting so far. He was so dismal that he had to rely on a stranger to somehow lift him away from an unattractive lifestyle. He might just be John’s Knight in Shining Armor. Not that John was a princess. Not that he’d ever dream of being one.

 

By eight, Sherlock swept inside the restaurant with his coat billowing glory. He sat himself properly on the chair opposite John’s, and held up the menu to his nose. The rotund man by the counter went to their table, his eyes staring at Sherlock in a familiar fashion.

 

“Sherlock!” The man cried out. “It’s been so long!”

 

“Yes, yes,” he dismissed him with his hand. “John, this is Angelo.”

 

“Oh, he saved me from prison! He proved I was innocent in a murder!”

 

“Not entirely correct. I proved you were clearly robbing a series of houses when it occurred. You still went to jail.”

 

“I wasn’t there for long because of you! Anything on the house for you and your date. I’ll get a candle. It’s more romantic.” Angelo’s tongue rolled when he pronounced ‘romantic’.

 

When Angelo went away to get the candle, John spoke rather hesitantly. “So, is that what we’re doing here? Dating?” He had wanted an answer for this since last night. So far, he could conclude that it was a date.

 

“Partially,” said Sherlock, never taking his eyes off the menu. “We’re here on a case, too.”

 

John looked at Sherlock, quite shocked. “A case? Like a real police case?”

 

“Your repetition is tedious, John. Yes, a case. We’re here on a date, and on a case.”

 

John’s adrenaline was rising. A case? Finally, another exciting thing in his life! Well, not to mention a date with a gorgeous man. Good lord, what did he do to deserve this much? “Should I be conscious of anything?”

 

“Just read this, then bring your gun with you at all times.” Sherlock got his phone from his trouser pocket and brought it to John. There was a photo of a dead woman wearing pink and a ‘Rache’ carved on the flooring. There were also notes below the photo, saying that the death was by asphyxiation, and that her pink suitcase was recovered not far from Lauriston Gardens. John wrote the information on the napkin, despite Sherlock telling him that it was idiotic and he could’ve just sent it to him. He defended that written notes are better and he was rubbish at technology. He pocketed the napkin, rubbed his gun for reassurance and waited for Sherlock to indicate any orders.

 

“Don’t be so rigid,” Sherlock flailed with his hands. “This is a date, too, although I think I should remind you I consider myself married to my Work and prioritize it above everything else. Well, this depends if whether anyone worthy of my interest comes along. I might make some.. adjustments.” He lowered his voice on the four last words he said, and gave him a sly smirk. He leaned further to John. God, he was flirting and John was at a loss of what to do.

 

 Angelo came in after a period of comfortable silence. He lit the candle, and took their orders. He scuttled away once again after.

 

“We’ve got half an hour to spare. What do people usually do on dates?” The lanky man asked, his face contorted with confusion. John laughed at this.

 

“You _asked_ me out on a date, and you don’t know how it usually works?”

 

Sherlock raised a brow. “I’ve only faked dates in the past and everything was based on my deductions of what they liked. Nothing personal and enjoyable.” His stare challenged John to pity him. John knew better than to pity him, if yesterday were anything to go by.

 

“So, this..” John gestured to them both. “Is something ‘personal and enjoyable’?” He was amused by Sherlock’s phrasing.

 

“In a way, yes.”

 

“You’re quite mushy, you know.”

 

“Shut up. I am not mushy. I revolt it. I am simply honest.”

 

“Alright, you are ‘honest’.” John raised his hands to do air quotes. “Well, this is usually it. We just talk about what interests us, or anything under the sun. Get to know each other. It doesn’t have to be anything grand.”

 

“Tedious!” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Well, I suppose I could manage. Does it have to involve small talk?”

 

“If you want it to. But, you already know much about me, so I guess it is my turn to ask you some questions.”

 

“You’ve done that yesterday.”

 

“It wasn’t enough!”

 

“Fine.” Sherlock’s eyes looked like they were questioning why John was being so boring.

 

“So, any boyfriends in the past..?”

 

“No.”

 

“How old are you?”

 

Sherlock’s eyes dramatically bulged for a moment. He gasped and covered his mouth. “Oh my god, John!” He mimicked an old woman’s voice. However, it ended up sounding a bit like a muscular gay man trying so hard to speak like a woman. “You cannot ask a lady her age! That simply won’t do! You are a rude bastard!”

 

John was laughing so hard. He felt so noisy inside the ‘romantic’ restaurant. He looked at Sherlock, who was also eliciting chuckle of his own. They looked like lunatics.

 

Sherlock glanced by the window, and his expression became stern. “I’m 32,” he whispered, distracted. His eyes suddenly turned sharp and focused. He stood from his chair, and went out of the restaurant. Somehow, John felt this was it. John followed after him, still a bit confused but trusting as well. _This was the stake out_ , he guessed.

 

The game was on.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John saves Sherlock's ass. Sherlock learns John was a danseur, and informs him of the possibility of a relationship between them.

That night, John had shot a man for Sherlock. In their two days of acquaintance, John had done something only a parent could do for his child. He was even more surprised at how fast he let Sherlock settle into his life like a familiar scene. He would go to work, then to Sherlock’s flat or Scotland Yard (he got on with this silver-haired Detective Inspector, Greg, who knew about Sherlock’s ability, too, and kept it a secret), chase after criminals, and go home in the early recess of the morning. It was becoming unhealthy for him, what with the lack of sleep, but he found he wouldn’t miss his time with Sherlock for the world.

 

Tonight was another one of their stake nights out. But, one thing lead to another, and now Sherlock was tied up in a chair with three men wearing black shirts with the Nazi signed plastered on the center with, John figured, real blood. They were quite neat with how they conducted their crimes, using medicine to not be detected and a hardly traceable room to gas them, just like Hitler did. They wanted to continue Hitler’s legacy. John and Sherlock almost got them, but they didn’t expect a third-party to come. Luckily, they didn’t get John because he was hidden in a barrel.

 

They were locked inside a gas chamber-like structure, without any opening at all and only shower heads on top of them. One of the men told Sherlock that he was to be gassed, using the traditional hydrogen cyanide (he even had a nasty handmade remote to control the gassing). There was a man wearing a beanie behind Sherlock, one with blonde hair in front of him, and another short man guarding the metal door (it was open). There were also unconscious old men and women around him. When they wake after three minutes, they would be locked inside and the gassing procedure would begin. Of course, none of that would stop Sherlock from deducing the men and saying how uncreative they were. The man behind him stomped on his feet heavily. John figured he had broken it.

 

Slowly lifting the top of the barrel to let his gun out, John readied himself for his attack. He breathed heavily, focused his aim on the foot of Shortie, and shot. He let out a pained groan. Beanie went towards Shortie, while Blonde went towards him. He uncovered the barrel and lifted John out of it by strangling his neck. Using his remaining strength (and good lord, the last ounces of his flexibility), he propelled his body upward, a rather grotesque 180-degree turn for his legs, and kicked Blonde in the face. He used his gun to jab Blonde’s stomach. When his legs went back to their original position, he kicked Blonde on the kneecap as hard as he could. His unbelievable tactic worked, because Blonde had loosened his grip on John. He used this opportunity to get out of his hands, and run towards the barrels. He rolled them towards Beanie and Shortie. Beanie jumped to avoid the barrel, and went towards John. John gave him a nice uppercut when he got close enough and kicked him on the shin. Blonde was back in the game again, but this time, John got him first. He jumped and climbed on Blonde, and rendered him unconscious with the butt of his gun.  Shortie was already unconscious because of the barrel earlier. At that instant, the unconscious civilians started to wake up. He met their confused gazes with polite smiles and led them out the door. The whole time he did this, Sherlock looked at him and grinned proudly. That didn’t hide the small grimace at the pain on his foot, though. When he got everyone out of the room, he untied Sherlock from the chair. He hung his arm on his shoulders, and ushered him out of the room slowly. He couldn’t be abrupt with it; he still had a broken foot after all.

 

“Have you had any inclinations in being a gymnast in the past?” Sherlock croaked, torn between letting out a groan or a question.

 

“Not really,” John answered while chuckling. “I was forced to learn ballet for a year to accompany Harry. I didn’t even know I could do that.”

 

“Well, you did. Remind me not to play you ‘The Nutcracker’ ever.”

 

“I played the Nutcracker prince in the annual recital.”

 

Sherlock chuckled in disbelief. “You are a man with many secrets, John Watson.”

 

“Yeah?” John smiled rather solemnly. There was a shift in his expression. “Am I interesting enough for you now?”

 

Sherlock felt the shift, too. He stopped limping for a moment and looked at John. Seeing the seriousness in his face, Sherlock resumed limping. “You were always interesting enough for me, John. Sometimes, more than enough.” There was an underlying _don’t be ridiculous_ behind his words.

 

But, John knew better. He had hope that this was going to go somewhere. Sherlock Holmes was the most brilliant man he has ever known, and through the course of the acquaintance, he couldn’t help but have feelings for him. He wasn’t so certain right now, but he wanted to be sure that when he gets in too deep, he wasn’t going to go on alone. He smiled to himself in triumph. Sherlock was too special; John didn’t want to let him go. He had to be sure.

 

“Have you ever kissed someone before?”

 

Sherlock glared at him. “You know the answer to that.”

 

“How do you suppose we kiss one day?” John tried to look like he was pondering at this seriously. “Do I have to lay a handkerchief on your face and kiss you?”

 

Sherlock nodded. “Not a bad idea. You’d have to be content with no tongues. You’d be frustrated.”

 

“Maybe. And, what about sex?”

 

“Get a blanket from the morgue, cut a hole where my cock would be situated, and put a condom on me.”

 

John laughed hardly. Sherlock was chuckling, too. And, here they were, on the verge of escaping from death. “We’re not supposed to talk about sex while being steps away from a crime scene, are we?”

 

“Not at all.”

 

“Impossible, we are.”

 

They continued to walk towards the exit, where Greg and his team were waiting. If his life were to be this way, John wouldn’t mind. After all, he had Sherlock in it. He wasn’t bothered by the idea of having this kind of life for a long time.

 

Maybe even forever.


End file.
